Tonight's the night, and strangely, I'm not as nervous as I thought I'd be. I've walked into ambushes with less certainty than this, but those came with adrenaline. This comes with something else entirely.
Zaria hasn't given me a reason not to trust her. Every piece of information she's provided has checked out.
So if I'm making a mistake, it isn't bringing her with me. It's not telling Keira or Declan what I'm doing tonight. My men think I'm taking her somewhere discreet. They don't know I'm walking into a ritual tied to the man who ordered my father's death.
Because if any of them knew, they'd try to stop me, and maybe they'd be right.
As I head up the stairs toward her room, I wonder how much my father kept from us over the years. How many times did he carry the weight of decisions like this alone, unable to brief thefamily because there was just too much to explain, too much risk in exposing every move?
This is one of those times.
I reach her door, and the guards unlock it without a word.
I step inside and stop.
Zaria's dressed all in black, as am I, per her suggestion. The dress she's wearing is form-fitting, clinging to her narrow frame in ways that hit different. Her hair is done differently, pulled back and twisted into something elegant while it exposes the soft lines of her neck. She looks...
I shake my head.
"Ready?" I ask.
She takes a deep breath, her shoulders rising. "Yeah. Are you?"
I shove my hands into my pockets. "To sneak into a ritual from some crazy society that wants to kill me? Why not?"
Her eyes narrow. "Do you tell jokes when you're nervous?"
"No." I turn around and start walking. "Only when I'm with someone I trust."
She follows slowly without another word but then I feel her pace pick up a bit, I wonder if she realizes how much I do trust her at this point and truly hope she's not tricking me.
We walk down to my car, just the two of us. I've given the guards the night off, sent them to patrol the outer routes. Zaria made it clear we have to follow protocol, and protocol means it can only be us.
I open the door for her. When she steps in, our hands brush briefly. The contact is accidental, but it lingers. I close the door and move around to the driver's side.
We pull onto the main road, and I glance over at her. She's fidgeting, her hands twisting together in her lap, her foot tapping against the floorboard.
"Remember when we arrive, you'll need to wait in the car," she says, her voice slightly shaky. "I'll go in and come out with your robe and mask."
"Yes," I nod, keeping my eyes on the road. "And you're sure no one will report you or something?"
"No. I trust the few friends I have there. The women stick together. Well, most of them. The ones that would turn on us, I know. So I can't run into them before I get my stuff."
She starts tapping her foot faster, and I think it might be a good idea to keep her talking. I can't have her this worked up. It might give us away.
I glance at her. "Talk to me," I say. "What are we walking into tonight?"
She hesitates, then exhales. "It's a Blood Moon ritual. A blood honor to the Morrígan. Since this ceremony involves outsiders," she stops and glances at me, "people like you, it won't be an animal like it usually is. It'll be symbolic. Poured from a vial or cup. Purely ceremonial. We'll watch, and that's how it should go."
"Should go?"
"Yeah. Just assuming my father hasn't gotten even crazier."
I follow her directions, the city lights fading behind us as we head toward the outskirts. Finally, she points ahead.
"There."
I pull up to an old warehouse, its walls crumbling, windows boarded up. Other cars are parked nearby, people walking toward the entrance in dark robes.
